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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426979">Day 7: Bonfire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades'>ZephyrOfAllTrades</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spooky Time Stories [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Burning people, If You Squint - Freeform, pyromaniac/psychopathic tendencies, unhealthy relationship with fire, you can guess who dies among the three</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:21:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>CW: character death by burning, graphic depictions of said burning, pyromaniac/psychopathic tendencies</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spooky Time Stories [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Day 7: Bonfire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CW: character death by burning, graphic depictions of said burning, pyromaniac/psychopathic tendencies</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started with that flicker of interest watching leaves crackle under the microscope’s lens. Typical child and their new-found curiosity.</p>
<p>Then, as sometimes they did, the leaves turned to ants. And the particular feeling of power it gave said child to watch lesser beings squirm.</p>
<p>At least that was the feeling a certain boy had caught. We shall call him Hastur, an odd child in appearance - paler than most with shocking white hair that couldn’t be tamed and dark, some might say soulless eyes - and an odd one in demeanor - silent, surly and had a propensity to not trust anyone else.</p>
<p>His fascination grew from magnifying glasses to actual flames. Candles, firelighters, then torches. In some ways we can understand his interest. Look back and think. Has that golden, orange flicker drew you in? The way the flame dances to its own rhythm - smooth undulating lines. The way you held your breath as you moved in closer. The moment you had let in out only to feel that sudden panic as when you though you had extinguished it. The sudden elation as you realized the fire was still there. You cup your mouth and your nose to keep it from happening again and let yourself be mesmerized once more by the colors and that sway tantalizingly before you.</p>
<p>Then that sudden spike of bravado as you lift a finger to touch the light. Keep it there too long and you’d feel the pain. Some do not try again. Others come back for another taste. Others revel at those few seconds where the flame caresses the skin, but doesn’t burn.</p>
<p>All this Hastur had known and then some. What seperates us from him, in this instance, is what happened at the convent.</p>
<p>It started with a casual walk to distance himself from the chaos that was his family. The path led him to the outer edges of an ageing convent. The nuns ran a part of it as a birthing hospital for their small town. Hastur, skirting from the busy front lawns to the administrative building, within which he found papers.</p>
<p>Stacks of white sheets, bound tomes, yellowing pages and hundreds of records - all looking very, very flammable. He had palmed at the silver lighter he snuck from his father’s coat and flicked it open. He gave a minute to admire the tantalizing tongue of blue, green, orange and yellow, then flicked it through an open window. He watched as that one sickly flame grew into a ravenous beast on its own.</p>
<p>And he laughed, oh, how he cackled.</p>
<p>The aftermath was as anyone would expect - the records had all gone to ashes. As for Hastur, the nuns pressed no charges. ‘The folly of youth and their pranks,’ they said. No one was injured. And there were no direct deaths - there was however, one due to a heart attack when the Sister received the news.</p>
<p>Years pass and the incident was forgotten. When next we find Hastur, he was grumbling through university.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Years pass and the incident was forgotten. When next we find Hastur, he was grumbling through university.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Got a light?” someone muttered beside him. It was a stocky boy with dark skin, dark hair and dark clothes.</p>
<p>Hastur looked around. They were the only ones at the local graveyard. “What?” he croaked, a little surprised at the sudden interruption on his usual evening lurks.</p>
<p>“I asked if you’ve got a light on you,” he rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>“Might’ve,” he countered.</p>
<p>“’Ave it here then,” the other groused.</p>
<p>Hoping that offering the other what they wanted would result to finally leaving him alone, Hastur patted down his ratty coat and taking out a variety of lighters to choose from.</p>
<p>“Prepared, are you?” The other hummed as he took the topmost from the pile.</p>
<p>“I like fire,” Hastur replied bluntly. Well, he did.</p>
<p>The other boy gave him a sideways look before asking, “Ever seen a person on fire?”</p>
<p>“Can’t say I have,” he said in the same cool manner.</p>
<p>“D’you want to?” the other whispered lowly, despite there being no one else to overhear them.</p>
<p>“So long’s it won’t be me,” he shrugged.</p>
<p>“Come look for me here on Bonfire Night and I’ll show you a treat,” the other said, beginning to stand. “Name’s Ligur by the way,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night had been promising as Hastur watched, in a somewhat detached trance. Another boy - a red-head dressed in all black and designer sunglasses - was pulled closer to the towering flames. But then it all went down like a lead balloon. The ginger was able to slither to the side and instead of him, it was Ligur who fell into the fire. The teepee of scorching branches crumbled atop him and if the heat hadn’t killed him, certainly the smoke would.</p>
<p>He had screamed the same as the others, barely noticing the red-head escape, but when his voice had died down, he couldn’t help but stare. The clothes were the first to go, the hem of Ligur’s coat flapping wildly from the autumn wind and the pockets or scorching air. The flesh came next. It was a sickening site as it was bewitching - melting and burning in parts. He could just make out the ends of what should have been finger bones when he was dragged away from the site.</p>
<p>The authorities must have been disturbed with his reaction. But he couldn’t help himself. His grin began to spread from ear to ear. It <em>had</em> been a treat. His fingers twitched towards a pocket and felt the smooth edges of a lighter. He wondered whose body he could burn next…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm posting this through phone now because we've had no power for the last two weeks. We've had strong storms this last two Sundays and a third is on its way. 2020 amIright?</p>
<p>Visit my Tumblr for the other prompts: <a>zephyrofalltrades</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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